Siren
by RainbowTurkeyOfDoom
Summary: Molly has a hard time dealing with the news that her beloved Jim is actually a criminal mastermind. She has a harder time once he starts sending her messages and calling to collect. Molliarty
1. Prologue

**Siren**

_Molly POV_

Prologue

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><p>When I'd been in med school, and my professors found out I was going on to study forensic pathology, they'd often tell me same thing- "Let your home life and work be seperate. You can't bring your daily sights home with you."<p>

As I sat there, staring at the pizza I had made myself, I couldn't help thinking about how the too-thick cheese looked like the skin of the burnt corpse I'd had to examine earlier. My stomach made an unhappy noise and flipped as my mind compared the sauce to blood.

Appetite gone, I took the rest of the pizza, packed it into a plastic container and went to shove it into the fridge. Lately, I hadn't had much of an appetite anyway. It took me a while to find a place where the container would fit, with the shelves already packed with similar unfinished dinners just waiting to go bad. _Note to self- get around to throwing some out._

I stood up and ran a hand through my hair, leaning against my sofa. The sofa was a nice cream colour and comfortable, and there was a mirror on the far wall which I refused to look into, knowing it would only show tired eyes and a frown. Probably wrinkles too, which would remind me that I'm 32 years old and living with a cat, and not getting any younger. I was just so incredibly exhausted.

Hit with a sudden impulse, I strode over to my desk and sat down, flipping open my laptop. It was pink, and I stared at my desktop ( a picture of a kitten) for a moment before I opened up my blog.

For the millionth time, I checked my last post.

"I won't be keeping this diary anymore. It was all a lie. Everything he said. But, got to stay positive. Nobody wants an unhappy person working in a morgue. Not that they want a particularly happy one either."

No comments. I swallowed hard and my eyes lingered on the large "0" before I closed my laptop shut.

It'd been two weeks since I'd found out my boyfriend was the incredibly intellegent mad bomber who'd been threatening London. It was odd to think, but it'd already been longer since finding out who he really was than the time we'd spent dating. I guess it only felt like we'd been together for months and months.

It all made my head spin. I remembered those last two days vividely in my mind, memories striking me like jagged shards of glass...

/

"Jim, just talk to me," I'd pleaded persistantly. "Be honest with me, please."

His back had been turned to me, and my living room was too dimmly to see his face. We'd never gone to his place; always to mine, or out into town or to The Fox.

Jim had been wearing a loose fitting black shirt, sleeveless, with some sort of graphic I'd thought was cute coupled with a washed out pair of jeans. His clothes had always been slightly mismatched, but always very well kept and clean.

When he didn't answer, I continued.

"You've been hiding from me Jim, I've always thought so," I was frusterated now, and my voice had cracked, " And Sherlock's hardly ever wrong-"

"_WHAT DO YOU __**KNOW**_?" He suddenly screamed, whipping around to face me.

I'd stumbled back, my own eyes almost as wide as his own beedy, eratic ones. I'd never seen Jim like this- the sudden change in him, the sudden anger radiating out of him and the atmosphere completely crushed by his newfound power- I was terrified. Speechless.

I found myself sinking into my couch, unable to stand.

"Sherlock Holmes." He spat out. "Is _wrong."_

His voice was a hiss, and his face had twisted into fury.

Under his breath, I heard him mutter something along the lines,_ "...it's always been about him...brilliant...let me think**.**"_

After a moment of heavy breathing, he stood up a little straighter and looked down at me cooly. I knew he was waiting for me to speak. I had wanted to say something. But at that moment all I could think of was _there is a monster in my house. What happened to my sweet Jim? The one I snuggled with watching Glee, the one who told fantastic stories and made me giggle like a school girl?_

The man I looked up at was not Jim.

After what seemed like an eternity, he tilted his headand smiled. I noticed how dead his eyes were. How had I not noticed before?

I sat there silently, staring up at him as he looked down fondly, before he suddenly turned, grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"You'll be hearing more from me soon, Mols." He said in a voice nothing like the one I'd known, and with a wave of his hand I was left wondering if the exchange that had just took place had been a dream.

/

I didn't hear anything from him for the next two days. I was starting to get worried, before I was woken up at 3 in the morning from a phonecall.

"Hello, uh, Molly?" I recognized the voice of Lestrade on the other line, "Sherlock wants to talk with you, you should probably get down to the station."

My throat seemed to have closed up. Normally on hearing Sherlock's name I would have blushed, or gotten butterflies, but now it was just the opposite. The thought that Jim had gotten hurt had crossed my mind, and I'd thought about the Jim I had dated- with the adorable smile and kisses as polite as they were soft. Was he hurt? Whatever it was, if Lestrade had called me at 3 in the morning it wasn't good.

"What's happened?" I asked.

There was a pause. "I think I'd better let him explain this one to be honest. I'll see you soon, alright Molly?"

I remembered entering the station, entering the room where Sherlock and John and Lestrade were waiting and the hush that fell over the room. How I'd sat down nervously, fiddling with the strap of the bag I'd brought.

"H-has something happened?" I asked tenatively. I was avoiding everyone's eyes, but once Sherlock's grey coloured irises locked mine I was caught.

"Your 'boyfriend', his name was Jim. How well did you know him?" He spoke urgently.

"U-uh." I stuttered, trying to think, "I only knew him for a couple weeks, I mean, he was just nice..." I trailed off, and I saw Sherlock's eyes narrow.

"You're referring to him in the past tense. Why?" Sherlock's tone was sharp.

"We had a fight the other night, after you said he was g-gay." I spoke quickly, stumbling over my words slightly. The recent stress of the fight, coupled with the worry, coupled with Sherlock staring straight at me... it was enough to make me feel like the tinniest of mouses.

"And you haven't heard from him since?"

I nodded.

"Good."

And they proceeded to fill me in on who Jim really was, and what he had done, both in the recent bombing and at the pool. The mastermind, the criminal, the man I met only a few nights before in the dark living room.

After that the moments blur together seemlessly. Moments of disbelief, shock, hopelessness, anger, pain. Realizing he'd only used me as everyone does, as Sherlock so often did. That 'Jim' that I'd been so sure I was in love with, going to marry, did not exist.

I'd been drilled for information by Sherlock and Lestrade, but once they realized I didn't have anything useful they let me go.

"You won't have to worry about Moriarty. He won't come after you, he was only trying to get closer to me," Sherlock told me. I think he must have thought it was comforting.

"Even still, I'll position some more officers in your neighbourhood, too make sure you're safe." Lestrade chipped in with a firm hand on my shoulder. I gave a small smile before nodding thanks.

/

Leaning on that couch with dinner in the fridge, I checked my phone again for anything from him.

And there was nothing.

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><p>AN: New fanfic yay! A Molliarty one because I love this pairing so much. I hope they're in character. This is just the beginning, things will pick up very soon :) Thanks for reading and please review! Peace~


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Molly POV_

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><p>Aside from being just about the hottest summer day yet, June 22nd started out a day like any other. I changed into my work clothes, made my coffee and checked my phone as I'd been doing religiously for the past two months. I wore a simple purple shirt, a nice satin material that didn't cling too tight or loose with my white labcoat over top. There were a few stains where I'd been unable to get the blood out of.<p>

With a drawn out sigh, I went to the bathroom to do my makeup and picked up my favourite tube of lipstick. It was a deep shade of red, and always made me feel like a glamerous 1920's star. I started to apply it but stopped, thinking of the man I went to all the trouble to impress.

"He's not worth it Molly," I muttered to myself, "He doesn't think about you at all."

As I finished applying the lipstick and pulled my hair to the side in a pony tail, my mind wandered, as it often did, to the last man I'd dated-Jim. Thoughts swirled and I sighed once again.

Placing the cap back on the lipstick, and then back into it's proper spot on the counter, I exited my washroom and headed for the door.

My house was a nice place, settled in the suburbs on the edges of West London. It was a normal, ordinary house, with a squared in yard and white wash panelling. The yard was well kept, with my garden beginning to bloom. It wasn't as nice as last years garden, but there were Lilies and Zinnia and Dogbane and Jonquils blooming in beautiful patches of pink, white, orange and yellow. Light peeked from windows with curtains drawn, the previous meagenta curtains replaced with an off-white cream colour.

Heading down my short driveway, I unlocked my punchbuggy with a press of a button. The yellow car jumped to life, and I backed out of my driveway and off to the Hospital smoothly.

/

Once I'd checked into the main center, I headed off to the morgue. Some days the morgue was extremely busy, and I was working through several bodies in a day while other times it was, well, dead.

Just before I made my way through the doors to my own little work space, my phone buzzed in my pockets. Figuring it to be my friend Meena finally getting back to me on hanging out the coming weekend, I stopped in the hallway to check.

Flipping to the messages folder, I realized I didn't recognize the number. Probably a wrong number, then, someone who meant to type-

_-JM_

That was all the text said. I stared at it, disturbed. Not moving, my mind was reeling, calling back all disections I'd attempted at who exactly he was over many sleepless nights. I'd thought I'd never hear from again, and I'd never been able to discern whether or not that made me glad or forlorn. I'd desperately wanted to know more about him, see if any of the sweet Jim I'd known existed, but I feared him as well, like a blazing beautiful flame.

But the text didn't reveal anyone and left me with dozens of questions. Why had he chosen to contact me? Why in this way? There was no message, just his signature. I started to feel sick, and I wondered if I should show Sherlock the message. I decided immediately against it, and, shoving the phone back into my pocket, opened the doors to the morgue.

Hopefully there'd be a nice clean examination waiting for me, where I could put my body on autopilot and try and figure some things out internally. I checked the first man's chart and glanced over at the zipped body bag.

_"Henry Ellis, age unknown, found propped up against a lampost on 32nd street. Found dead holding a pink rose. Ruled a crime of passion by his ex girlfriend Tina who has since been missing."_

32nd street was only a few blocks away from my house.

Trying to steady my breathing, I (with great effort) lifted the body onto the table, slipped on my rubber gloves and then unzipped the bag.

The man was younger than me, probably early or mid twenties, with short ashen hair and a pale blue face and neck. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was a thin, pale line. Rigor Mortis had already set in, making it easy to pin point a time of death. His back was a dark purple colour, and his skin was taught and waxy. I was glad the smell no longer bothered me, because the smell of decay was present as it always was.

However, the most obvious thing above him was the cuts shaped as a heart made into his chest.

I stared down. This had to be Jim. With the text, and the body with the pink rose found close to my house, it was too much for coincidence.

I let out a burst of nervous giggles, my eyes darting around the room. My feelings were so mixed up, and I was shoked to feel a small sheepish smile creep onto my face. My hands quickly rose to cover it and then back down as I inspected the body closer.

The cuts had been made after death, that much was very clear. It hadn't been his girlfriend, this I knew, and if she was missing she was probably already dead too. I doubted the police would find her. I traced them lightly with my gloved hand- the cuts weren't very deep, and they were done smoothly, finely, most likely with a very sharp, skinny knife.

A hushed, horrified silence fell over the room, and I felt my knees begin to shake. He'd done this for _me._ A man was dead, to send me (or so I assumed, I reasoned that I didn't know if it was me for sure yet) a message. Or maybe, more likely, a warning. My mind snapped back to the last time I'd seen Jim and my mouth went dry.

I'd never been so terrified in my life. Terrified and thrilled and confused. Taking off my gloves, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and thought for a moment. Blood pounding loudly in my ears, I ran my shaking fingers over the cool screen and contemplated what I could possibly say.

I typed in a small heart symbol with a question mark, as adrenaline beat through my veins. I felt like I should run, close the curtains and hide. But I had to know if there was any reason to.

A minute passed. And then two. I clutched that phone like a drowning man to a life preserver, thinking of all the terrible things I'd been told Jim had done. Jim. James.

Then, it buzzed.

Quickly and without fumbling, I swallowed and checked the message I'd received.

_;)_

That settled it, then. I felt sick. I contemplated calling up my mother and telling her to lay low, even though that was ridiculous as she already lived out of Britain. If my mother was covered, the only person I needed to make sure was safe was myself and Toby- I had no idea how I could ever hide from him.

I heard the door open, and I swiftly slipped my phone into my pants pocket. Sherlock strode in like a storm, walking up to the table and glancing at the heart before walking up to me.

He was so much taller than me, and had this aura of burning, cold intellegence and strength. I'd never seen anyone's eyes look like his- the most perfect, piercing grey colour. I gulped as I stared up at him, twisting my hands together and feeling the phone in my pocket seeming to weigh 100 pounds.

"Molly. I need to see the body of a Julia Stoner." He said flately. I stared up at him.

"I've..." I started slowly, my brain cranking back into action, "I haven't gotten to examining her yet."

His eyes narrowed, and swept across the room for the second body bag. Once his eyes found it, he gave me a smile.

_Here it comes_. I thought, _Here it comes._

"Molly, you've lost weight." He observed. His eyebrows raised slightly and I bit my lip.

I felt so good to hear those nice words, that flatterly, even if it was empty. But I shook my head- I didn't want to be used anymore. Not again and again.

His features seemed to shift, and he looked at me knowingly. I hated that look, how he could just swoop into the room, learn all of my deepest secrets and then leave. It felt too personal.

"Molly." He said evenly, "I need to see the body."

I nodded and showed him to the bag. As he moved to examine Julia, taking it and putting it up on another table and ignoring me, I considered telling him about the messages. I knew he could stop Jim from finding me, keep him away from me and stop him from contacting me. I knew it would probably be safer, and I knew it might even help him stop London's most dangerous advesary.

But I didn't say a word.

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><p>AN: A toast for starting the story. I warn you, I'll probably change the chapter around a few more times, I usually do. ALSO- The next chapter will probably be fairly gory. Until next time!~


	3. Chapter 2

I curled up on my couch, and, stifling a yawn, began to channel surf. Toby was curled up beside me in a warm little ball, head nestling up against me. I petted him absentmindly, snuggling down and searching for something to watch.

For days I'd been worried someone would confront me about the little message from Jim-someone would connect that the body was found close to my street, or see my phone and that I'd been getting texts. Jim himself also made a nervous. Would he try something more drastic?

But as the days started to crawl by and nothing happened, things slowly fell back into normality. Everyday I'd wake up, go to work where there'd be another body to examine, and then come home and spend the night alone in my house. The days were dull, and blurred together easily.

"But not today," I said to Toby with a smile.

I checked my watch. It was 12 oclock. My friend Natasha was going to pick me up soon to go out shopping with some friends for the day and then go out to eat. It would be nice to get out with friends- I'd been growing distant to them lately, and I couldn't wait to go out and have some actual _fun_.

Settling on a bridal show, I watched women be fitted for dresses as I waited to hear the sound of a car pulling into my driveway. I needed some new clothing. Maybe I'd buy some new shoes. I grinned and checked the clock again.

After the bridal show, there was a show about fashion. And after the show about fashion, there was a show about baking cakes. And after the show about baking cakes, there was a show on modelling.

I'd tried calling Natasha several times but by six I accepted she wasn't coming. I felt horribly hollow inside,and decided against making dinner because I didn't know if I could stomach it. Even Toby had wandered off into the depths of the house (probably in one of the three empty bedrooms) leaving me alone in my vast living room.

At 7:30 the phone rang. Turning off the telly and leaping up, I answered it on the second ring.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Molly! It's Natasha. I am sooo sorry, I completely forgot about today and scheduled a date with Brian," Natasha's voice echoed through the line. I could hear laughter in the background, and talking. I tried to make my voice seem happy, an action which clashed with the sinking feeling I felt.

"It's alright, I ended up being pretty busy anyway. Enjoy yourself okay Natasha?" I laughed a quiet, empty laugh into the phone.

I felt icy all over. Numb and cold. As I answered I walked around with the phone, looking at the pictures on my mantle. There was an old one of me and some friends, one I'd managed to take of Sherlock one day at the morgue, the only picture I had of my father, and a line of photos of Jim and I taken in a photobooth.

"You are a doll. Thanks so much Mols! We'll have to hang out some time soon. Bye!" I heard Natasha giggle before the line went dead.

And I was left in silence in my large, empty house.

/

It was another couple of weeks before my next message. Every now and then Sherlock would pop into the morgue, which always brightened the day a little, even if he said the worst things sometimes. It was nice though. Having a bit of company while I worked.

I'd gotten the next message on another day off. I'd settled down at my table eating my breakfast holding out a cheap romance novel in front of me, but I wasn't reading. As I picked away at my runny eggs, I was trying to decide what to do that day. Now it as down to two choices, which were to go out and get a manicure (it'd been a while since I'd gone out to the salon) or to rewatch something by John Hughes.

I'd tried to contact my "friends" again, but I dropped it when no one answered me. I didn't want to bother anyone, but I had to wonder why they were all abandonning me. Because I had a job working in a morgue? Because I'd dated a psychopath? Because I just wasn't very interesting?

When I'd been in high school, I figured that as long as I got a well paying job and worked hard I'd be set. I'd planned everything out, every step through university and medschool and residency. It'd all been perfect. I'd assumed that somewhere along the way I'd have lots of friends, meet a nice man and get married, start a family.

I was wondering if I should get another cat when my phone buzzed.

Looking down at it quickly, I opened up the new text. It was from a different number than the last time, but consisted of exactly the same message.

_-JM_

I jumped up. Looks like I didn't have a day off after all. My heart drumming in my chest, I headed for the morgue.

/

By the time I got there, the substitute pathologist had already arrived and was about to start the exaination. I'd ran through a few red lights to get there in time, and ran into the room, quite out of breath.

"Molly?"

The sub was a short, young man named Mick who was still in his training. He was a nice man, I rather liked him, even if he did have a tendancy to mess up his examinations. Gloves alresdy covered his hands, and he was holding a scalpel in his left one. His thick eyebrows had shot up when I entered, and he looked like he almost dropped the scalpel.

"Yes, hello." I answered, out of breath.

He set the scalpel aside and turned to me.

"Isn't it your day off?"

"Yes." I answered him, "But I really don't have anything better to do, so you can go home if you like."

He seemed uneasy with the idea.

"Are you sure? It's really no problem covering for you."

I shook my head rapidly.

"No, no, no. I insist." I gave him a smile and with a shrug, he left. Before he left, he stopped.

"This case is pretty clear anyway, took a bashing to the back of the head, s'all. Should be a breeze."

Then it was just me and the body.

I circled the body (this time a women, probably in her forties) snapping on my own gloves and picking up my own scalpel. The only inication of injury on the surface was a large, swollen and purple bump at the back of the head, indicating it had been a death by blunt trauma, as Mick had said.

As I looked over the body, something caught my eye. Lifting the victim's arm, I noticed a small, clean bullet wound at an upward angle, indicating a bullet had gone up into the neck or head. Searching through her hair, I determined that there was no exit wound. I knew I should measure and photograph the bullet wounds as per protocol, but I was too interested in where the message from Jim was. I could bet it had to do with the bullet.

Well, looks like it was time to check the head.

I felt around the woman's jaw, and noticed it was very loose. There was still no indications a bullet had gone through the head region, however, so the shooter must have been very skilled.

Taking my scalpal, I made an incision from behind the left ear, and draged my knife cleanly through the top of the head down to behind the right ear. I peeled the scalp foreward, revealing the white hard skull underneath. I carefully looked over the skull until I noticed a slight indent on the very left of the forehead. That must be where the bullet was caught.

Placing my scalpal down, I looked around for the saw used to cut through bone. Ah, there. After I'd disinfected it, I used the saw to cut a piece off the front of the skull. Upon removing the peice, I found the tiny little bullet, lodged between the brain and the skull.

"There you are, you little rascal," I said, plucking the bullet out of the brain. It had been very well hidden, and I was glad I hadn't taken Mick's word for the matter.

I examined the bullet. There seemed to be a weird pattern on it of some sort. Taking it over to the sink, I washed it and my gloves off. I peeled off the gloves and put the bullet under a lamp to inspect it closer.

It was inscribed with words written in beautiful cursive:

_"Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Good work, Molly Hooper_

_I'm watching you."_

I nearly dropped it down the sink. There it was. A feeling of accomplishment washed over me, the first feeling of pride I'd felt in a long, _long_ time.

I looked down at the women, and for the first time, really looked. Death had never really bothered me, and I'd long since blocked out any feelings I had for the victims. I had to, with my work. I couldn't go around sobbing into the bodies, thinking of their families or friends or what their life had been like. They'd long since just become like machines, and I was the mechanic to take them apart.

But now here I was wondering. Was she a mother? Who had she been? Had Moriarty killed her? Just to send me a message?

I drew a shaky breath, feeling an overpour of guilt, and went to continue on. After I placed the skull piece back in place and sewed the skin back together, I knew I had to continue my job as an examiner and make the next incison.

But now that she was a SHE and not an IT I found it difficult to cut. My hands shook, and I set down the scalpal and gripped the side of the table, leaning over the corpse. My hair hung down as I tried to catch my breath again.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the scalpal again, making a clean y-shaped incision into the torso. And then, SHE became an IT once more.

Once I'd finished documenting the rest of the body (removed the organs, replace them, sew up the corpse) I covered the body up and began writing my report.

I left out the bullet.

I felt like a child again, one who'd stolen a cookie when you were on your diet. I was lying to protect a criminal- so I was breaking the law now. I guess I already had before. Somehow, at this point, I was numb to this fact.

Signing my name, I placed the report on a clipboard on top of the covered body and headed out. As I walked to my car, I couldn't help but look around me wildly.

He'd said he was watching. Was he watching now?

Starting my car, I realized I didn't feel safe anymore.

Leaving the lot, I realized I didn't feel as lonely.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh Molly, Molly, Molly. You and your mixed up feelings. Caught between being terrified and needy. At least that was what I was going for I dunno. Hoped you enjoyed, I'll update soon. Probably with Jim in the next couple chapters or so. Also, it's not as gory as I first intended. It probably will get gorier later on but yeah. Mostly just autopsy goodness here~


	4. Chapter 3

"Hello!" I waved slightly to Sherlock as he strode into the morgue. I could tell by the was he held his head and his little smirk that he was pleased with himself.

"Hello Molly. Just finishing up are we?" He asked. His voice was brimming with confidence, and I figured he'd just solved another case.

It was a few days after Jim's last message, and a while since Sherlock had visited, especially in such a good mood. I loved these days, when he came like this. He wouldn't insult me, or try to get information. And he'd be positively just glowing with energy, vibrant with pride and satisfaction. The ice cold atmosphere he usually brought with him was electric.

I zipped up the body bag and turned to face him happily. Keeping from standing still for too long, he ended up pacing around the room.

"Yep! Where's John gotten off to then?" I asked, pulling off my gloves. They made a satisfying snapping noice as I threw them out and made my way over to the sink, keeping an eye on Sherlock.

"Ah. Off to visit someone or other. Just left. Unimportant." He peeked into the body bag I'd just closed as I washed my hands in the sink with a small smile playing on my lips.

"Just finished a case, do you have anything for me? Something funny, challenging." He looked at me hopefully, almost childlike.

"Sorry Sherlock, nothing that you'd really fancy." I grinned and cocked my head to the side a little. "But tell me about your case!"

He looked at me for a moment as he always does, looked through me, and he hesitated before he began to tell me about how he figured out how the man I'd just finished working on had come to die. Maybe he was a bit embarrassed to brag about it to me. But he did.

And I listened to every detail of his story, taking it all in as I leaned against the table. He was speaking quickly, deeply and evenly. He didn't use his hands to speak as some did, instead rolling his eyes here and there but keeping mostly still as he looked down at me.

Every blink, every little syllable I noticed. It really was an incredible story, and I had to wonder again how his mind managed to connect so many little points together.

When he finished, it took me a moment to realize he had finished speaking and we were just staring at each other. I flushed red and quickly turned away, saying, "You really are brilliant Sherlock."

"Hmm." He made a small noise behind me, looking away. "So what's her story."

_Her?_ Oh. I glanced over. He'd been pointing to the other body I'd examined that day.

"Ah, nothing much. Asphyxiation, was strangled by a drunk husband after losing his job." I answered. His eyes did another sweep of the room before he said, "Oh. Dull." I nodded, turning back to shuffle some papers.

As I did, I plucked up some courage for myself and swiveled around.

"Sherlock, would you like to maybe go-"

But he'd already left.

''Oh...''

/

I drummed my fingers against my phone as I lay down in my bed. It was late, but I couldn't sleep. It seemed I'd been getting less and less sleep lately.

My eyes were fixed on his number. The number. Only four numbers were left on my phone- Jim's old number, the two he'd used to contact me since and Sherlock's. I was flipping through Jim's old texts.

"Good morning :)"

"How's work going? Don't forget about our date love!"

"Seven sound good?"

"I'll make it a_ surprise_."

"Something funner."

"It's not? Oh silly me."

I closed my eyes and rested my phone against my face. Should I try texting him now? What would I even say, what could I even begin to say? Would I be angry, funny, lighthearted, agressive, scared? How would he be?

My clock flashed red numbers in a rhythmic pattern. Like a heartbeat. It was late, really late.

I found myself thumbing through some pictures I'd taken at the morgue.

There were burn victims, blunt-force-trauma victims, victims who's been cut the throat or hanged or drowned. Whenever I found a body, an especially beautifully marked body, I'd snap a picture. It seemed too...artistic to just throw in a hole. I wanted the image captured, saved.

I can't remember how I started taking them. An impulse, probably. I'd been facinated with death as long as I could remember, that's why I was in this field. But know one knew, I didn't dare let anyone know.

They'd think I was mad or something.

Coming across a certain photo, I stopped. It'd been from a few days ago, two days after Sherlock came in. The body had been killed in an explosion, and though it hadn't been linked to Jim yet I had to wonder. Had it just been a gas link like the papers had said?

The body was charred black on the side and front, where the explotion had caught the worst. Pieces of skin had melted off, leaving irregular chunks in the flesh. The skin was warped and patchy, in colours of yellow, red and green.

Seized by a sudden burst of curiousity and confidence, I clicked 'send photo' and added a short message.

"Was this you? Explosion in the west end? xxMH"

I waited for exactly nine minutes before I had a response. I nearly fell off the bed when the phone buzzed.

My face was stoney and tight in concentration as I opened the message. I wasn't giggling or laughing now, but I felt like my throat was closing up a bit in anticipation.

"I think taking your own photos is hardly hospital protocol, Molly-dear. Tut tut."

I was suddenly aware of the life pumping through my veins. My pulse and heart racing. Again, I felt alive, a nice break from the normal routine of misery.

Taking my time to think up a reply that didn't seem too nervous, I drummed my fingers against the phone once more before curiosity overcame me and I replied, "Why are you doing this Jim?"

Less than a minute later, "Now now now. That's not what we were talking about at all. Tell me, do you take pictures of all the corpses or only when you think they're my doing?"

My stomach dropped. Should I try and make up an excuse? I began to shake slightly. Would he try to blackmail me? I could be in serious trouble if he did. Imagine if Lestrade found out. I'm sure I'd be fired, and everyone would surely think I was a freak. What would Sherlock say? Oh god...

"You answer me first." I replied, trying to sound braver, stronger than I was. I was quivering though. I should have never, _never_ done this, I should have _never_ even played along or saved the numbers, I should have never-

"Very good! Putting on such a bold little face, Molly, honestly, I'm proud! But would you be so brave if we were to speak face to face, I wonder."

I licked my lips slightly. I could almost hear him laughing. I was sweating and regretting my actions more and more. But I couldn't stop answering him, not now, not that I was so close to knowing why the bodies were coming into the morgue with hearts and poetry for me.

He sent me another message before I could even begin to think of a reply.

"Now answer the question."

I found myself obeying him.

"Just sometimes." I felt ashamed and guilty. Here I was, telling JIM of all people that I sometimes took pictures of dead people because I thought they were fascinating.

"Hmm. I knew I was right."

"About what?"

"About you being interesting. Behind the Fox, tomorrow at 2am. Be there."

The threat was clear enough without even being made. I knew with all these thoughts swimming around my head I wasn't getting sleep anytime soon.

/

"So we'll have to tell Sally that we rescheduled the dinner until next week, because I'm pretty sure she still thinks it's on the... Molly? Are you listening?"

"Sorry Greg." I smiled apologetically, "I've got a lot on my mind."

We were in the hospital caffeteria. The room was big, lined with many of the same tables where the staff came down to eat on their break. I usually took my lunch back to the morgue with me, but Greg had stopped by to tell me about the dinner next week between some officers and other associates I had. We were standing off to the side as people walked around us, just a ways off the line to buy the food.

It was my break, and exactly 12 hours until Jim had told me to meet him behind The Fox. I still didn't know if I was going or not. I had to wonder what he would do if I didn't show up. The thought made me shiver.

Then I noticed Greg was waiting for me to say something. Oh, he'd probably said something else I'd missed.

"You okay Molly? Anything you want to talk about?" He was concerned about me. That was nice of him.

_I really should tell him_, I kept telling myself. _Then he might be able to catch Moriarty_

"It's fine." I laughed quietly and stared down at my coffee which was cooling. I didn't feel like drinking it- I really didn't need to be any more jittery.

I wanted to tell him. I could feel it on the tip of my tounge, just begging to come out. But I just couldn't get the words out. Jim was too much of an enigma, too much of a riddle for me to solve. And it seemed...personal.

"Alright..." He said, taking a deep breath and looking around before giving me a reassuring smile. "If you're done your work, you don't have to hang around here. Why don't you take the afternoon off? Get some rest."

I laughed a little at that too, knowing I wouldn't be able to get any sleep no matter what I chose.

"Thanks Greg." I said.

"Take care Molly." He said, resting a hand on my shoulder for a moment before he went to leave the hospital. I sighed, threw out my coffee and followed out after him. There was no point in staying as he'd said, and I certainly wasn't hungry.

/

It was 11 that night. I was wrestling with myself. To go or not to go? The question had been constantly turning in my mind all day.

In a way, there was never really even was a question though. I knew I was going. It was the sensable part of my mind, the logical reasoning that kept me thinking though.

_You cannot go,_ It kept saying._ He's a murderer. He'll try to kill you. You cannot go. This is crazy. You can't just go out, strolling, at midnight to meet a psychopath. This is ridiculous._

_But._ I slid on a dress. Nothing fancy, just a knee length black, very plain dress._ The temptation. _Pulled back my hair out of my face in a low ponytail. _The curiosity_. Put on a jacket to keep myself warm. _The thrill. _

I pet Toby goodbye, briefly considered leaving a note in case something happened, grabbed my purse and left the house.

_He'd said I was interesting._

You might think I'm an idiot. I can tell you now- yes I was. But I didn't leave the house completely defenseless. In my purse I carried pepper spray and a makeshift medical kit. I'd hidden a small scalpel in my jacket, as well as added 911 into my phone's speedile before I'd left.

The Fox wasn't too far from my house, so I walked there. I was in knots. It's felt as if something inside me had coiled, waiting to spring and just adding tension and pressure all over my body. Every step was heavy, and as I got closer and closer to The Fox I kept telling myself to turn back, to run and get Greg. But my feet seemed not to care what my mind said and I just kept on walking.

The night was cool, but I felt flushed and sticky hot. My hands kept ringing together, and my breath become shallow as I was within a block away from the bar. At this point, my mind had all but completely slowed to a halt. Instinct carried me now, and a stronger drive and need I'd ever felt in my life.

I wasn't so much afraid, really, as I was nervous and excited. I wasn't in the right mind at the time to be scared. I was all adrenaline and ambition, certainly foolish. I was beyond the point of really caring what would happen to me. I just wanted to feel the thrill. To finally get some answers. Jim had made me feel... well, as silly as it sounds, appreciated. And I couldn't help but still trust him, even a little, even knowing what he'd done.

As I said. Foolish.

* * *

><p>AN: Updating before I die tomorrow. Reichenbach noooo D: But anyway, here's the new chapter. I hope you liked it, keeping everyone in character is extremely difficult! Hope I pulled it off! Thanks, and please review! :)<p> 


	5. Chapter 4

/

I made my way to the back of the building, down through a dark alley lit only by a distant streetlamp. I looked around for Jim before I stopped, leaning against the dark wall carefully. I wrapped my coat tighter against me, the cool wind piercing through to chill the skin underneath.

And then I waited. It wasn't long before a cab pulled through the alley and stopped by me. I was on the opposite side to the driver, but the back window in the cab started rolling down slowly toward me. Was it someone from work? Oh, how would I begin to explain this?

"I'm waiting for someone, I really don't need a cab!" I said lightly, with a light wave on with the hand. I'd hoped the driver could hear me and would drive on, and the person who was in the back- who I was now convinced was definitely someone from work, who would soon find out everything- would be left shaking their head saying, "Nah, couldn't be her."

The window finished rolling down.

"Oh, I think you _do-o_!" A singsong voice rang out into the silence of the night. It was him.

He looked exactly the same as he had the last time I'd seen him- same high forehead, dark hair and darker eyes with a large grin of slightly crooked, pointed teeth. I'd always thought his teeth were cute.

But now, it was so different. Not just because he was dressed in some expensive suit, or that his jet black hair was slicked back professionally rather then the way it used to messily stick up. No, the atmosphere surrounding him was..._different._ I was in on the game now, and he'd dropped all pretenses. I could see it now, clearly, how my sweet Jim could really be a killer. There was a new, almost crocodile edge to his grin that sent shivers up my spine.

I stood there, almost in shock. I don't know what I was expecting, honestly- that he wouldn't come, that it would be Lestrade who'd been playing a joke on me. Jim, coming to pick me up, was hard to swallow, hard to accept. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Are you just going to stand there with a dumb look on your face," he made a face, of surprise, hanging his mouth open wide before closing it in a smirk, "Or are you going to _get in_?"

And that was the precise moment when I got cold feet.

I considered running, but I didn't favour the outcome if I did. I was terrified of what he could do to me, what he would do to me. But even though I was stone cold, blood pounding in my veins frantically scared, I was being...welcomed, almost. Certainly not thinking straight, feeling like I was trapped in a kalidiscope, I walked toward the car.

He cooed something to me as he opened the door, and I slowly climbed into the cab, shutting the door with a final 'click' behind me. Jim moved over slightly to give me some room, but not nearly as much as I would have been comfortable with. As the cab started back up (I couldn't see the driver, sitting directly behind him) I peeked over at Jim.

Or, more accurately, up. He was looming over me, much too close, so close I could feel his breath on my neck. We watched each other for a while, me peeking up at him, too scared to make a definite move and him looking down at me in what seemed to be a mix of amusement and interest. I could never tell with Jim, though.

After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned back slightly, turning his head with a crack of the neck. I shuddered in the silence of the cab- the air was thich with cigarette smoke and some colonge Jim was wearing- a rich scent. It must have been expensive.

Finally, he spoke, "Molly Molly Molly. There's no need to be so TENSE!" He laughed, putting his hands on my shoulders. I tensed further, to protect my neck. "Shh, shh." He said, and he began to massage my shoulders in little circles. Slowly, I began to relax slightly.

He was rather good at it. And by rather, I mean extremely. After days of night shifts at the lab, it felt so good I couldn't help but smile a little bit.

_Be careful._ I had to remind myself, _Mad bomber._

I shifted away slighly, and he lifted his chin, peering down at me with a perfectly calm expression on his face. It was almost...dead, the way his black eyes were staring into mine, and I couldn't look away. Gone was the smirk and his laughing eyes. Now there was only cold judgement.

"Hmmm." He mused, and a small smile crept up onto his face. Bringing his hands up to his mouth, he grinned, "How's work?"

I blinked. This certainly hadn't been the expected line of questioning. Taking a deep breath, I told myself to stay calm and then answered, "Fine. It's fine."

"And your collegues?" He drawled, lazily leaning agaist the opposite door.

I swallowed and gave a small shrug. "They're okay. Nice, I guess."

"You guess?" His eyes widened slightly, and he made an overexageratted face of skepticism. I sighed.

"Well, you know..." I looked down and squirmed slightly. It was weird talking with him like this. I would have told Jim from IT in an instance, but...

"Go on." It wasn't a question. He leaned forward as I continued.

"Just a bit lonely I guess." I finished. I thought I noticed a small smile before his face changed to sympathy.

"Oh Molly." He said. It was easy to tell he was acting- it was far overdone, far too fake to even be considered real. It was beyond obvious to see the manipulation. Biting my lip, I steeled my gaze in a small act of what I thought was defiance.

He burst out laughing, managing a high pitched, "OH!" I jumped slightly at the outburst, at the deep laughter until he calmed down a moment later.

"You are just _so funny."_ He purred, and I gulped. "But _honestly. _A girl as interesting as you deserves more than what **they **give you." There was a dark emphasis on the** they**, and if **they **were the enemies. As if he was against them, against them all.

"You." He breathed, moving closer again. "Are not like **them**, Molly, are you?" His hand was in my hair, his long fingers running through at it. It was that look again, the dead one, with his head slightly tilted as he waited for an answer.

My breath was caught in my throat. The offer was clear to me. And I wanted, so desperately, just to be appreciated in that moment. To no longer be ignored. Here was Jim, or perhaps, Moriarty, telling me I was special. To him, of all people. A criminal mastermind, a genius. I shook my head, only slightly, my lips in a thin line and my eyes very, very wide. I must have looked sickly.

He smiled a little, and this time it was more believably sympathetic. Jim didn't say anything explicit like, "Work for me" or "Come with me". But when he held out his hands, the implication was clear.

And I was already caught.

/

Jim didn't say much for the rest of the ride. I leaned slightly into him. He was safe, for now anyway, and he'd draped a lazy arm around my shoulder. After a while, the car stopped.

"This is your stop, dear." He told me, flicking his eyes up slowly to my face. Peeling myself away, I opened the door with a click. As I started to get out of the car, I looked back. His crocodile smile was back, toothy and vicious. His eyebrows raised to the top of his forehead as he said, "I'll be in touch ever so soon!"

Getting out of the cab, I realized I was back at my house. And, as the door shut and the car drove away, I was left in the silence of the dimmly lit street to ponder what had just happened.

I felt completely numb as I walked up the steps toward my house, fumbling with my keys as I tried to unlock my door. I never fumbled, not with anything. But I just felt so raw, so exposed and confused. I had no idea what I was doing, or what I had even agreed to. I just knew I felt kind of...good, for the first time in a long while.

A slow smile crept up on my face and I shut my eyes. I didn't know what kind of hurricane I was landing myself into. I didn't know what kind of danger I was putting myself in. I didn't know what risk I was putting myself at. And, horrible to say, at this point I didn't really care. As I got through my door, I span slightly and then steadied myself. Petting Toby happily, I finished up the chores, changed into my nightie and climbed into bed.

I knew he was probably lying. But I slept much better than I had in weeks.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ASFHJKGFGJKJTIUYUI SORRY<strong>


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